


Truth Be Blown

by Background_Foxe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Cupcakes, Developing Relationship, First Time, Humor, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Background_Foxe/pseuds/Background_Foxe
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley obtain the Horn of Gabriel, a magical item that is said to cause people to tell the truth uncontrollably. Aziraphale accidentally tests out the theoryA short story of the boys getting together, including added grr and eroticism in a kitchenWritten for the Quote Prompt Meme request by 27twinsister: “Um, I can’t let you do that. That’s illegal, you know.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38
Collections: Quote Prompt Memes





	Truth Be Blown

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [27twinsister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/27twinsister/pseuds/27twinsister) in the [quoteonlyprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/quoteonlyprompts) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> “Um, I can’t let you do that. That’s illegal, you know.”
> 
> Author's Note: Details of the Horn of Gabriel were pinched from an early episode of Supernatural and therefore this fic is not a good representation of accurate religious lore. Saying that, I suspect the presence of strawberry flavoured lube probably confirmed that anyway

*

It was a Sunday and every reasonable person would be like him, sitting around a table and buttering croissants with a cup of tea on standby. However, Aziraphale had long accepted the fact that Crowley wasn’t always a reasonable person. He was a lovely person of course, despite his protests, but certain traditions and laws occasionally slipped him by. And occasionally, just occasionally, he had a few tasks that were a little on the unsanitary side.

“You want to do _what_?”

“Investigate.”

Aziraphale digested that, along with a rather pleasant cream bun. Investigate. Well, that could be quite noble. Multiple excellent and morally upstanding investigators in the world, resolving issues, finding truths and occasionally wearing deerstalker hats. There was no reason to believe that Crowley wouldn’t be one of the ‘good’ ones, a person attempting to correct a serious issue in the world. 

Well, other than the look in his eyes, of course. Crowley always had a particular look when he was getting up to mischief, and Aziraphale was familiar enough with it that the sunglasses were no disguise. He sighed softly and reluctantly.

“Will this,” he struggled for words. “Well, will this be a _good idea_?”

The last two words were said in a very meaningful way, a way that any angel - or demon, for that matter, would understand the subtext. Very important, subtexts. Useful for all manner of careful conversations, only it did rely on the other person wanting to acknowledge it. And from the small pfting noise from Crowley to indicate indifference to ideas, good or otherwise, Aziraphale was willing to bet that subtexts would need to be so blatant that they were the literary equivalent of a sledgehammer to the forehead.

Aziraphale sighed softly again, just in case the demon had missed the first one, and picked up his spoon to stir his cup of tea in what he hoped was a purposeful way. Crowley’s schemes were not an unusual occurrence at any time of day, and although it was very sweet that the demon had come to his door for help, they did have a teensy habit of being .. well, _inappropriate_.

Crowley, of course, loved inappropriate. He would have inappropriate for breakfast, dinner and tea if he could find it in a spreadable medium and his toaster was working. However, there was always that little burning feeling in Aziraphale’s gut that he really ought not to be doing it. Whatever ‘it’ was. And sometimes ‘it’ was … well, a little bit, well.. fun. In an education way, of course. Granted that education was often ‘shit, we shouldn’t be doing this’, but these were details that didn’t necessarily need unpicking.

And, of course, letting Crowley disappear off on his own for an inappropriate scheme was probably inappropriate in itself. After all, was he not an angel? Was it not his solemn duty to keep an eye on demon occurrences? But no. He was getting ahead of himself, and anyway, this was more an advice call. 

He looked up to find Crowley watching him with a look of expectation. 

“So.. what are you planning to investigate?”

“Nothing much.”

“You’re not helping my general sense of nervousness.” Aziraphale advised him, the spoon stilling in the cup. “Crowley, dearest, you _need_ to specify something otherwise I’m going to assume the worst, and thanks to you my worst has a few more chapters to add to it. So, what is it?”

Crowley drummed his fingers on the table as he considered this, then shrugged as carelessly as he could. 

“I need to see whether there’s a particular item in the museum, and if there is, then …,” fingers waved slightly. “.. extract it.”

There was a pause. “ _Extract_ it?”

“Extract it.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale thought about that. “Through the correct procedure?”

“If by correct procedure you mean sneaking in through the back and pinching it then yes, definitely.” Crowley offered him a winning and toothy grin. Aziraphale looked briefly scandalised, which of course he was.

“You’re planning to steal from a _museum_?! That sounds very unorthodox.”

“Would you prefer unauthorised acquisition?” Crowley suggested.

“Um, I can’t let you do that. That’s _illegal_ , you know.”

“I hope so, it ruins my reputation if it’s a little too straight laced,” Crowley said gloomily. “One month I was so low on dubious acts I had to park all over the place just to pick up enough parking tickets to count. Oh, and I destroyed one of those car wheel clamping machines, but I suspect that might be a tick on your side’s boxes rather than mine. Clamping machines were a big thing downstairs. Caused so much minor chaos and disquiet.” 

Aziraphale was still frowning over the subject matter of the unauthorised acquisition. “But _why_?”

“Why do clamping machines cause minor chaos and disquiet? Probably because they’re buggers and mess up your day-,”

“Not the parking, the theft. What are you planning to steal?”

A toothy grin aimed itself at him. “Ah, now that’s the question.”

“It is. I’m asking it right now, in fact.”

Crowley paused and looked around himself as though genuinely expecting the walls to generate ears, before leaning closer to Aziraphale. This was not a bad thing by any means, but it did put the cream buns at risk of toppling. Still, Crowley looked energised, and Aziraphale hated to say it but perhaps demons did really need a bit of Evil Time to be fully satisfied, in the same way as a dog often needed a park to sniff at for the brightest of sparkly eyes. It was in their nature.

“It’s a religious artefact.” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. The frown cleared a little on Aziraphale’s forehead.

“Oh, I _see_. A religious quest, perhaps?” he said hopefully. Religious quests were suitable, one of the few acceptable options for acts of Social Improper Acts. You could perform murders, thefts and full out war with religious quests, although two of the three were definitely off his list of things to do. 

“Possibly,” Crowley pulled a face. “That kinda sounds a little too heroic for my tastes. Perhaps a hunt. Hunts have more grr and blood and bruising. Quests often seem to end up with brightly coloured tights and sequins.”

Aziraphale had to concede the point, although it begged the question what type of quests that Crowley had been inflicted with in the past. He frowned again.

“So which artefact are you trying to locate? A book? A sword? A shield? Saint remains?”

“It’s a ... ,” Crowley paused and rewound that last one. “Saint remains? What, like actual _remains_ , bones and skulls and thingies? Couldn’t they just be left in the ground?”

“They’re supposed to give luck and good fortune,” Aziraphale replied solemnly.

“Clearly not for the saint involved,” Crowley frowned at him before shaking himself mentally and getting on with the consideration. “Okay, leaving aside necromantic tendencies, no, it’s none of those. It’s more a thing. A horn.”

“A horn?” The word was repeated doubtfully.

“Yeah. Bronze, big bugger, about so big. Might have dangly tassels on it.”

“Does it have a name?”

“What, like George?” Crowley glanced at him and then offered another winning grin. “Ah… well, yeah, it does. Bit posh, though.”

Aziraphale waited for the reveal that was not forthcoming. Finally he sighed in understanding.

“It’s one of my side’s, isn’t it?” he said gloomily.

Crowley looked a little shifty. Well, shiftier, anyway. “Might be. Look, Angel, it’s not something really scary like a trumpet that blasts down walls or things like that. It’s supposed to be relaxing.”

“Relaxing?” Aziraphale looked perplexed. “Are you _sure_ it’s one of my sides?”

“Yep.” Crowley sauntered, as was his way, toward the nearby bar and inspected the wine bottles. This was perfectly in keeping with Crowley for two main reasons; one, it involved alcohol, and two, it allowed him to do something other than provide a more suitable answer for the question in hand. However, it was just the teenyist bit frustrating, and sometimes, privately, Aziraphale questioned whether Crowley rather liked making him frustrated. Apparently it made his eyes sparkle.

“And the name is? Honestly, Crowley, if I didn’t know better I’d assume you were trying to avoid the question.” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “I mean, you’re _not_ avoiding the question, right?”

“Right.” Crowley selected a bottle cheerfully. “Definitely no avoiding. Shall we go?”

“And you still haven’t - wait just a darn minute, _we_?! I’m afraid I am no good at extractions, legal or otherwise.” Aziraphale had a mild giddy moment and then re-composed himself. No. _No._ And anyway, one problem at a time otherwise he’d get overwhelmed and end up in quite a pickle. “What’s the item, Crowley?”

“It’s nothing much-,”

“ _Crowley_.” A firm, masterful voice, one that Aziraphale was quite proud of and one that actually made a difference to the demon. There was a short sulky period of time before the demon gave a small huff of a sigh and rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, fine, sure. It’s … well, it’s one of Gabriel’s.” 

The short sulky period of time suddenly found a new friend in the longer incredulous period of time that was busy assessing that last sentence.

“Gabriel? As in Archangel? As in-,”

“As in the arrogant prick, yeah, that Gabriel. It’s his horn.”

“Well, there’s no need for that type of imagery-,”

“Actual thing you blow.” Crowley hesitated. “Uh, wrong choice of phrase there. The brass instrument thing with twiddly bits and probably sounds like a cat in a metal bathtub. Not that I put many cats in metal bathtubs, mind you.”

Aziraphale didn’t really want to explore whether that was because of a love of cats or simply because fashions had moved on and it was harder to find a metal bathtub nowaday. Gabriel. Well, that was likely to cause a bit of rumpus, if he was honest with himself. Gabriel wasn’t their greatest fan at the best of times, and for some reason the archangel did get a lot of very fun items to play with. 

To be frank, probably not the type of thing to let Crowley handle by himself, either. He might be .. well, there was a jolly long list of things that he might be, and most of them weren’t the fun type of situations. Aziraphale carefully removed his napkin from where it had been tucked into his shirt and rested his fingers on the table carefully.

“Mm,”

“Ah, come on, Angel,” Crowley had his best winning urge voice on. “It’ll be one night, tops. Get in, get out, shake it all about if you want to, and then jobs a good ‘un,”

“What do you want this thing for?” Aziraphale queried faintly. “And if you say ‘to blow’ I will be pretty displeased.”

“It’s supposed to make whoever hears it tell the truth.”

“Oh. Well, that sounds a … well, a little worrying, to be honest.” There was another ‘but _why_ ’ question on the tip of his tongue but Aziraphale decided to bite it back again. “Does it work on celestial beings?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. It’s not in the manual, or at least the religious texts that mention it. Probably, though. I mean, it’s easier shoving everything in rather than accidentally using it in a dangerous situation only to find your target is immune.” Crowley shrugged, then brightened. “Does that mean you’re coming?”

Aziraphale hesitated, but a look toward the eager eyes and pleased expression managed to dissolve his caution about saying yes. Didn’t necessarily dissolve his worries, but then that was probably the sensible thing to do. It was, in many respects, the most honourable thing to do, otherwise Crowley was almost certainly going to land himself and many others in difficulties. 

It was almost his _duty._

Crowley had been watching his expression, and a toothy grin indicated that he was well versed in the art of Aziraphale face reading and had found said reading positive. 

“Atta angel,” he gently took hold of Aziraphale’s arm and gave it a tug. “C’mon. We got a lot to organise if we want to be in today.”

“ _Today?!_ Oh my, isn’t that a little .. well, sudden?”

“What did you want us to do, go through some army training course on how to break in? It’ll be _fine_ ,” Crowley surveyed that last statement and found it wanting on a few factual areas. “... okay, it’ll _probably_ be fine, but we’ve been through worse.”

To be fair, they had. However, this wasn’t necessarily the most uplifting comment that Aziraphale could have heard. The angel sighed softly again and surveyed his demon colleague. His proud, eager colleague, with his positive if highly suspicious smile, his lean form set to squirm into the most unforgiving of places, and his… Aziraphale’s gaze lowered briefly and then lifted swiftly again in faint embarrassment. Well, there were many benefits to Crowley, most of them non heaven sanctioned.

Those thoughts were definitely not suitable.

“Very well. I’ll make sure I have some appropriate shoes.”

“Ah, Angel, you say the sexiest things.”

“I sincerely hope not!” Aziraphale looked faintly scandalised, and Crowley simply chuckled softly before gently patting him on the arm and giving him another tug out of the chair. 

Apparently they had work to do. And he hadn’t even had time to properly drink his tea.

*

The museum was big and mostly clean and full of random interesting things that made the building into a museum rather than an organised hoarding situation. It was also currently quiet, especially down the little corridors that were marked ‘please do not enter’ and ‘staff only’ and other remarkably polite requests for people to avoid it.

Needless to say, Crowley ignored all of them. Even the ones with a lock on it.

“I’ve never seen anyone actually kick down a door before. It’s very exciting!” Aziraphale stared back at the now sorrowful door and then at Crowley who was busy examining a small hand drawn map of the area and squinting around.

“Thrilling, in fact?” Crowley tossed over his shoulder as he focused. Aziraphale considered that.

“I do hope not, thrilling is more an afternoon thing and it’s not even midday.” he said worriedly. “I say, Crowley, are you .. well, are you a little _lost_?”

“I’m never lost. Occasionally I don’t know where everything else is, but me? Nah. Always right where I left myself.” he prowled forward and started to open a few drawers. “Angel, see if you can find one marked 147A. Might be a bit big.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

There were several minutes worth of moving around the room and general examination. There were many doors, and many cupboards, and many boxes, and many drawers. Aziraphale peered into a box and pulled out a skull with a slightly battered expression. Someone had carefully written a number with a Sharpie at the base.

“I wonder who this is.”

“What? Oh, angel, put it back, you don’t know who it’s been.” Crowley fussed slightly and then stood with his hands on his hips and feet astride like a mad goth pirate. “Well, this is irritating. Can you feel it?”

“The irritation?” Aziraphale enquired as he carefully put the skull back and the box away. 

“Not the irritation, the thingie. Is anything calling you? Other than me, obviously. Anything .. wibbly.”

“Wibbly.” Aziraphale echoed, perplexed.

“Wibbly as in religiously based wibbly. Don’t your things give you some sort of wholesome glow? Like a religious orgasm.”

“I’m not sure which testaments you’ve been reading, but I suspect they might have exaggerated.” Aziraphale commented. “Um. No. Nothing seems to be warm and fuzzy, wibbly or not. How about over here? There’s some nice looking wooden boxes on the top of that cupboard.”

Crowley glanced at said boxes, shrugged, and moved to pull them down. There was dust. There was a lot of dust. Finally the top one was opened, and they stared into the container.

A shiny thing stared back at them, or at least it would have done had it possessed eyes. Still, who knew. Perhaps the tassels were eyeing them up suspiciously.

A few more moments and Crowley had carefully picked up the instrument, a big bronze piece that had decorative shapes and some silk tassels that dangled delightfully downward. He turned it this way and that, trying to study it, and then looked critically into the mouth of the horn. It was, unsurprisingly, unexciting. 

“So it’s just the one noise?” he said finally. “No actual musical ability, just a toot?”

“It’s Gabriel’s horn, Crowley.” Aziraphale said patiently. “It had a purpose and that wasn’t really intended to be jazz bars. Or at least I assume it’s the horn.”

“Well, it’s big and horny.” Crowley confirmed, and then paused at the expectation on Aziraphale’s face. “...you okay?”

“I confess I was waiting for some sort of joke.”

“Oh.” That was fair, Crowley guessed. “Well, I can offer you some random porn reference if you fancy?”

“Again, more an afternoon thing. Possibly even evening.” Aziraphale replied apologetically, although he might offend Crowley by not accepting his porn offerings. Thankfully there were few things that Crowley felt offended by, and most of those were normally related to someone else’s Bloody Stupidity or insults against his car.

“Yeah, you might be right there.” Crowley tested the weight in his hand idly. “Surprisingly light for a two hander. And it’s all shiny.”

“It is Gabriel’s. It goes with his outfit.” 

“Mm.” Another little jiggle. Proper engineering term, jiggle. Sometimes he thought he really had to do more jiggling to keep accredited. “Does it still work? It looks pretty simple.”

“It’s probably fine,” Aziraphale reassured him. “Give it a blow?”

Crowley’s eyes weren’t really the gleaming sort, but if they could, they definitely would be for that comment. “Angel, I love it when you talk dirty.”

A pained expression crossed Aziraphale’s face.

“Just .. just blow the horn, please Crowley. And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Crowley knew exactly which look he was talking about but decided that he might as well try innocence on occasion, especially when he was lying.

“Like … well, your _demon_ is showing, dear.”

“Oh. Well, that is awkward.” Crowley grinned a toothy grin and then lifted the horn to his lips. There was a soft splutter. Crowley squinted down the entrance to the horn, or whatever the proper terminology was for the hole the noise came out of. “And that was anti-climatic.”

Aziraphale chuckled fondly.

“Don’t be silly. I doubt whether any of your climaxes would be poor.”

The world slowly ground to a halt as it decided whether it had actually heard what it thought it had heard. Impressive climaxes? Well, that was a thing to consider. Crowley frowned at the horn, frowned at the floor, frowned at the cabinets and then, finally, mostly because he had run out of anything else to frown at, back at Aziraphale.

“Oh.” Crowley paused, although he couldn’t resist after a while. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale said happily. “I’ve thought about it often.”

Apparently the world seemed determined to use up all its weirdness allocations today. Crowley took a better grip on his horn, a phrase that probably needed some work, and tried to look as nonchalant as he could under the circumstances. Thought about it often? That was almost as much as _he_ considered it, and Crowley considered himself a connoisseur of personal climaxes and/or orgasms.

“Oh.” said Crowley.

“Mm.” Aziraphale looked as happy as he did whenever he was considering a plate of freshly baked pastries from some top end bakery at the Arse End of Nowhere. There was a little misty expression on his face and a pleased, sweet smile on his lips and his hands were clasped in a manner that spoke of biblical cherubic posters. Apparently he was very serious.

Crowley thought about that some more.

“My climaxes? You’ve thought of those often?” he repeated finally and slowly, as though a trap was just over the horizon. “What, _all_ of them?”

“It’s something to do in the night.”

And the information just kept on piling up in a glorious, bewildering heap of confusion. Crowley licked his lips and leaned a little closer.

“You think of them in the night? In _bed_?”

He was greeted with a genuinely bewildered look, wide eyes and everything. 

“Well, that _is_ the best place for erotic thoughts, isn’t it?”

“.. you have a point.” Crowley knew he shouldn’t press. However, he was a demon, and demons specialised in doing things they shouldn’t. It was somewhat in the job description. “.. so. Um. These erotic thoughts of yours. Do you have any examples?”

“Oh, I have many examples. I’m particularly partial to the ones in the big feather beds, with the large metal bed frames that can take some restraints and a mirror on the ceiling and some rather succulent strawberries dipped in warm chocolate. And it _has_ to be warm chocolate, not cooling, not too hot. Almost a three bears thing when it comes to chocolate body paint.” Aziraphale mused. “And some other nibbles, and I have to say I’ve always wanted to try those edible underwear items but I’m sure they probably just taste of rice paper.”

“And the sex?” Crowley said faintly. 

“Oh! Yes, and sex. Big, bouncy sex. Added lube. Flavoured lube, too. And some toys. And a lot of hard pounding,” Aziraphale looked at him expectantly.

And this was .. well, he didn’t necessarily know how to handle this. In all honesty, although Crowley definitely enjoyed sex, he had gone off it for the last hundred years or so. Well, gone off was a little strong, but after thousands of years he’d done pretty much everything you could do without being horrific and the shine had begun to wear off. Crowley viewed it a bit like sandwiches; it was possible to create a masterpiece out of the finest ingredients and plenty of care, but generally speaking sandwiches normally ended up with a random filling from the fridge and some slightly soggy bread because everyone was too tired to care.

And to be truthful, he hadn’t really believed Aziraphale was really into the erotic. It seemed a bit too messy and bothersome. Well, unless chocolate spread was involved, at which point anything was game.

“Hard pounding. Yes.” Crowley replied carefully. “Um. Who was pounding who?”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I normally pound you, but honestly whatever works.”

The imagery. Gabriel’s horn of truth and apparently random information was well worth the blow.

“Oh.” Crowley’s voice squeaked slightly, before he coughed and brought it back down. “Oh. Well, I don’t mind being pounded. It’s kinda fun.”

“It _is_ , isn’t it? Although a little too _energetic_ sometimes. I treat it like a three course meal, something to be savoured at a weekend.” Aziraphale nodded sagely, with a look on his face that suggested this was a Very Serious Topic Of Conversation. And to be fair it was rapidly going up the list of Crowley’s Top Topics of All Time. Had he even realised that Aziraphale knew what pounding was in that context? Probably not. They’d never really talked about this type of thing. Sure, there were the occasional references or little small smiles but the angel had always deemed it a little .. well, Crowley wasn’t sure, but definitely off the cards.

“And for day to day?” If they were going to have a Truth Session then Crowley was planning to get as much as he possibly could out of it. Aziraphale brightened.

“I find that casual masturbation works well.” 

Crowley’s voice decided not to work again. He had to pause to gather his thoughts and bodily sensations, before trying the nonchalant look again. This proved difficult, mostly because it was.

“Does it.”

“You mean you _don’t?_ ” Aziraphale looked at him in polite surprise, as though Crowley had suggested he enjoyed hot dogs without either ketchup or onions. There was a soft hiss of objection.

“Never said that, Angel. Big wanker, me.” He paused, and frowned. “I think I might want to rephrase that.”

“And some of the erotic thoughts revolve around being ridden.” Thankfully Aziraphale was off on another tale, his eyes sparkling in memory. “Lying back, stars in the background-,”

“-wait, stars in the background? Are we outside or did someone destroy the ceiling?” Crowley asked suspiciously.

“- outside, Crowley, summer nights.” Aziraphale’s voice was reproachful at Crowley’s lack of psychic knowledge. “-and you riding me hard, your back arched and your delightful head tipped back and your buttocks tense-,”

He knew all the words but the sentence was definitely a combination that made his ears bleed. Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever had anyone comment on his buttocks before, but he wasn’t about to complain. “-yes?”

But Aziraphale looked confused for a moment. “... um, Crowley?”

“...yes?” Crowley repeated, mostly because there were few other words he could remember right at that point. The angel looked perplexed and faintly worried. This was not an unusual expression for him, but this time it seemed to have an additional layer of worry and a dash of anxiousness. 

“.... um. What was I saying?” If Aziraphale had a handkerchief he’d be twisting it right at that point.

“Well, let’s see. You were talking about my arse and erotic thoughts. Oh, and summer nights, although to be honest we’d probably only get bitten by some insects-,” Crowley paused and took in the absolute horror on Aziraphale’s face. “Uh. Something wrong?”

“Oh… _oh!_ ” Aziraphale clutched at his chest as though he was having a heart attack, eyes wide and anxious. Crowley looked at him uncertainly. Well, this was weird. Weirder. 

“..you okay, Angel?”

“Am I okay…,” he said unhappily to himself. “No, Crowley, no, I am emphatically _not_ okay.. I have been .. I …,”

He raised a finger, opened his mouth, shut it again, and then suddenly rushed off as though he had forgotten to take a cake out of the oven. Crowley stared after him, and then looked at the horn in his hand. Well, it certainly worked. It also only lasted for a few minutes from that performance as well, but those seemed to be a good few minutes.

“Well.” he said. “Okay, then.”

It was a turn up for the books, but a very good turn up, like finding an extra £20 note in the top pocket of a winter jacket that had been forgotten for the last few months. Crowley smiled to himself and then sauntered back to locate his wayward angel who had vanished through the battered door toward the library. 

Erotic thoughts. Casual wanking. The corner of Crowley’s mouth lifted. 

Who knew.

*

“Angel..,”

“Cupcakes, Crowley, cupcakes!”

Angels often had a specific thing they used whenever they found themselves in times of trouble, and Crowley had long known that Aziraphale’s preference involved some sort of baking. Crusty bread. Big gooey cakes. Tiny little cakes with sparkly things. Pies, whether it be pork or fruit based. Upside down cakes, although Crowley lost interest in those when he discovered the baker didn’t have to be physically upside down to cook them. And for today’s little scene? Cupcakes.

A _lot_ of cupcakes.

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as Aziraphale charged around the kitchen brandishing a spatula and wearing a little frilly apron that the demon suspected was probably originally intended for a non-cooking purpose. Aziraphale didn’t necessarily bake that often - there were better people out there for that and he preferred to try out other people’s experiments - but when he did it was quite the spectacle.

It was also an annoying pain the arse if you wanted to talk about something. 

“Are you really planning to cover the whole situation with a cunning use of cupcakes?” he said finally as the angel flew past leaking buttercream. 

Apparently Aziraphale was certainly planning to give it a jolly good try. The spatula was waggled in Crowley’s general direction in what was presumably some sort of icing anointed communication attempt. The demon looked at the utensil politely, and then back at Aziraphale.

“Angel, it’s okay. Honest to Go.. uh, Sa… um, whoever you fancy. Okay, not _fancy_ fancy, because that would be awkward. Anyone you pick. And it _is_ okay. Us? We have a bond.”

Aziraphale looked at him worriedly. “I’m not really into handcuffs.”

Crowley had to pause in order to get his head in order.

“...wha..,?” He hesitated then sighed dramatically, as was his wont. “ _Bonds_ , Zira, bonds. Not the hand ones with the silk ties and the strategically placed whatsamecallit.”

The spatula hesitated in educational query.

“... what _do_ you call it?” Aziraphale asked curiously. Crowley rolled his eyes and huffed.

“Not the _point_ , angel. You like me, I like you.” Crowley waved a hand expressively, and then hesitated again. He’d not really gone into this type of conversation before. Not really. Not without copious amounts of alcohol involved, and anyway a lot of their conversations revolved around ‘what ifs’ and other suggestions and musing without actually saying ‘I’ or ‘you’ or any identifying features.

Bloody nightmare, if he was honest with himself, but then you couldn’t trust a demon to be honest. Against policy. But then following policy was the honest thing to do and he was a demon. It was all very contradictory, really. 

Finally he huffed again.

“Do you have _any_ idea what I want to do with you?”

“A few but the cupcakes aren’t really ready.” Aziraphale said apologetically and waggled the spatula again toward the baking. Crowley stared at him, then at the baking, and then back at the angel.

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation here!” It seemed very unfair. Angels were supposed to like honesty and truth and shiny things and all they were getting were crumbs.

“And I’m trying to avoid it, there’s a love.” Aziraphale looked at him brightly, which faded a little at the serious expression coming back. There was another hesitation, and the angel clearly seized on the first nice thing he could think of. “Would you like a cherry?”

Crowley grinned. Aziraphale flushed.

“Oh. Um. Perhaps not the best choice of fruit I could have chosen, there.”

“Still, I would _love_ a cherry.” the demon drawled, tongue sliding over slightly pointed teeth .. well, pointedly. Aziraphale gave him a look. It was a suspicious look and one that was faintly reproachful.

“I’m not sure I like how you said that.” Aziraphale said, and leaned forward conspiratorially. “You had added grr.”

“What, like a preservative, only more Tony the Tiger?” Crowley reflected on such matters briefly, before dismissing it entirely. “ Is added grr a problem?”

“Well, yes, otherwise I wouldn’t have mentioned it. Grrs are … well, they are only for suitable moments. _Dramatic_ ones, really.”

“And you don’t view this as a dramatic moment?” Crowley’s eyebrow lifted. “I can make it a dramatic moment. To be honest, I probably resemble a dramatic moment.”

“You will not! That’s ..,” Aziraphale cast around for a reason, and puffed up his chest a little like a well fed pigeon. “.. well, that’s _unsanitary_ in a kitchen.”

Crowley watched him fondly. He did love it when Aziraphale got a little flustered. There was a raw chaotic energy to him that just crackled, and didn’t even bother to wait for snap or pop. 

“Angel.” his voice was softer. “Calm down.”

“ _I am perfectly calm!_ ”

“I think you’ve squished a cupcake.”

“ _I have not_ … oh, wait. Well, yes, I think you might be right. Oh, bother.” Aziraphale paused to wipe the sad remains of a cupcake from his hands and then sighed. Apologetic and anxious eyes turned to him. “Crowley, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

In comparison, Crowley was very sure it was. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic of places to have the conversation, nor did it have the class or the style or the flare that other locations had to offer. But did that matter, really? When it came down to it, everything was just a load of microscopic lego bricks formed in random ways. 

“How many years have we been together?”

Aziraphale flushed again. 

“Well, _together_ is a little strong. More generally in the same orbit, like little planetary bodies that bump off each other every so often.” Aziraphale paused to consider that. “Oh. That might be more apocalyptic than I’d really hoped for, but you get my meaning.”

The demon sighed. He was going to get into descriptive prose, he could feel it now. God, he hated descriptive prose. It really did get all wibbly, and in a bad, over the top, too long for Scrabble type of way. 

“Angel, we both heard what you said.” he said with more patience than he realised he possessed. “Y’know. With the horn.”

There was a very long pause while Aziraphale considered what to say.

“I was ..,” there was another pause, and his voice lowered to a small squeak. “.. overwhelmed.” 

Crowley’s eyebrow rose again, like an unkillable fantasy hero. “You probably were, but it’s still the truth. _You like me_.”

Aziraphale puffed up again. “ _I do not_. Not like that.”

And they both knew that was a lie. It wasn’t even attempting to be hidden either, not with the colour in Aziraphale’s cheeks and Crowley’s expression and the small flecks of buttercream on the floor that looked somewhat inappropriate.

“D’you want me to blow it again?”

A small pout showed adorably on the angel’s face. “You like saying that.”

“I do.” Crowley’s grin grew toothy again, his voice a lazy drawl of decadence. “It’s like having accidental eroticism in a domestic setting. And I can, you know. Blow it again. If you weren’t sure.”

The flush to Aziraphale’s cheeks grew brighter until it was in danger of setting nearby things on fire.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“I thought your side were up for truth. Well, officially, anyway. Unofficially your side seem about as legal as a greasy con man with watches up his arms.” Crowley folded his arms. “C’mon, angel.”

“I…,” Aziraphale studied his hands for a moment, the innocence insistence hesitating finally. “I’m not sure, Crowley.”

And there it was. A genuine conversation. A serious conversation. A conversation that quite frankly he normally ran far away from. But running was a lot of effort, and sometimes, just sometimes, things actually needed to be said. 

“I’ll look after you.” There wasn’t a hint of joke in his words, a sincere softness that Crowley hadn’t realised he even possessed. 

Aziraphale looked at him sadly. The spatula drooped a little more. 

“I know you will.” he sighed softly and reluctantly. “ But..,” 

“... but?” Crowley repeated. He was definitely getting fed up of big buts and he could not lie.

“...but I .. well… I tried to give up sexual habits. Back in the day. All a little awkward, you know.”

Crowley was about to protest that this wasn’t all about sexual habits, in fact the sexual habits was generally only a certain percentage of the situation, when the words registered through his planned rant to bring it to a screeching halt. 

“Why?” Crowley said carefully, and was greeted with a faintly shifty look.

“Because.”

Another huff, this one impatient. If they were going for one word answers they were going to be here all day, and he had many better things to be getting on with.

“Still not an actual answer, Angel.” Crowley pointed out. The shifty look took on an element of embarrassment.

“Well, I.. um.” Aziraphale twirled the spatula slightly. “ A few errors were made.”

A few errors. Crowley gazed at him in fascination. He’d seen Aziraphale’s ‘errors’ before, which could range from forgetting to put a stamp on a letter before posting to accidental explosions and celestial rebellions. Aziraphale was also avoiding his gaze, like a nun suddenly finding herself accidentally in the audience of a Big Boy Strip Competition. 

“Soooo..,” Crowley stretched the word like it was playdough. “You can’t stop there.”

Aziraphale bristled. “There was a little too much enthusiasm and I jolly well _can_ stop there, young man.”

Crowley blinked. “Young man?”

“Anyway-,”

“ _Young man?!_ ”

Aziraphale winced. “I know, I know.”

“Not a man. Not young.” Crowley counted them off on his fingers.

“It’s a phrase, you don’t have to get so .. _factual_.” Aziraphale waved a hand again and almost bonked Crowley on the hand with the spatula. “It’s just … well… I don’t want to _hurt_ you.”

Crowley had opened his mouth to comment and then found it very difficult to continue. He stared at him uncomprehendingly. Aziraphale looked back at him worriedly, in the manner that the demon would have expected had the angel accidentally damaged his Bentley. Crowley blinked. There was another pause, and another blink. Finally-

“ _You_ ,” said Crowley slowly, testing the words. “ _You_ hurt _me_?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale said reluctantly and, even weirder, apologetically. Crowley looked at him. Aziraphale looked back. The demon was sure he’d missed something here. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Aziraphale would do to cause damage to anything. Harm generally was a Bad Thing, unless it was proclaimed by Up Above, in which case for reasons Crowley didn’t quite understand it went into Justified. And not the cowboy show either.

“Okay, _how_ exactly would you hurt me? I’m curious. Are you into some sort of electrical play?” 

Aziraphale looked shocked, which if Crowley was paying attention he would find rather fitting. The angel shook his head.

“I’m not into _any_ play, and no, I am not, thank you very much.” A brief look of confusion crossed the angel’s face and his voice dropped a little in what was almost a conspiratorial whisper. “ I’m not entirely sure I know what that is.” 

Probably not the time to go into details. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“I could blow the horn again.”

“No, I’m not talking.” Aziraphale said firmly, his chin raised and a look of determination in his eyes. “ Just … just trust me. You would be a little .. well, I won’t go into it, slightly unpleasant business.”

As though that was anywhere near a good explanation.

“... _how?!_ ” Crowley blinked. “C’mon, angel, you can’t leave it there! What do you get up to when you’re frisky?”

“I shouldn’t.” Aziraphale looked both doubtful and worried, Winnie the Pooh faced with an unexpected swingers party. Crowley pfted that away.

“Come _on_. Here, have some wine.” Or at least, once he’d found some wine. Perhaps there was some cooking sherry somewhere. There were bound to be bottles somewhere with unknown and probably dubious liquids, every kitchen had one. It was normally purchased by some aunt with an unlikely but historical name like Nora who no one ever saw outside of Christmas.

“It’s not right.” Aziraphale sounded miserable. Now that was bad. Definitely not something he wanted to encourage.

“It’s always right if you’re having fun.” Crowley tried to cheer him along and then hesitated. “ Well, unless you’re some sort of serial killer or mass torturer or something like that, then fun isn’t really such a good excuse.” 

A soft sigh from the angel. “Crowley, I wish you wouldn’t.” 

“It’s okay, angel, I know you’re not a serial killer. Your hands are too small, see? Your pinkie would get squashed.” Crowley said helpfully.

“Not that. The _other_ subject.” Big eyes turned to him pleadingly, and Crowley felt his need to know waver a little. Not, of course, a lot, but a little.. “It’s … it’s a little embarrassing.”

“Oh.” Crowley hesitated. “Okay. Point taken. No further words will be mentioned. Promise.”

The angel looked at him incredulously for a second and then brightened so much he almost sparkled. “... really?!”

His curiosity was going to kill him but it was the right thing to do. And that was also not really something he was supposed to be doing, but no one would know. 

“Mm. Pass a cupcake.” 

“Well, that’s ..,” Aziraphale struggled to find the words, his eyes still sparkling. “.. well, awfully good of you.”

Crowley winced. That was not the way to ensure no one would know. Definitely the wrong way, in fact. Not that he was expecting people to be eavesdropping in kitchens, but you never could tell. The amount of things that people discovered or invented because they were bored was incredible.

“Don’t say that, someone will hear.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Aziraphale thought about how to tackle the subject. “Well, that’s awfully _bad_ of you. I am very grateful. Well, I would be grateful if it was good. But it isn’t. Because it’s bad.”

He guessed that resolved the issue. If anyone was listening then they’d probably be absolutely baffled in the same way he was.

“Well, that covers it..,” Crowley hesitated. “Drink? Or shall I leave you to your thoughts?”

Aziraphale hesitated, a little guilty look in his eyes.

“I’m not sure I’d like my thoughts right at this point.” he confessed, the misery creeping in again. Crowley eyed him and then offered him a warm, easy smile that spoke of simple solutions and calm natures and other happy things.

“I can stay on the couch. Y’know. If you want. Just to keep you company in case of .. uh.” his mind went blank. “..stuff.”

A warm and grateful smile, and that was what he lived for. Well, other than Netflix.

“Mmm. Stuff.” Aziraphale smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

And he was. Kinda.

*

“Crowley. I’ve had a thought.”

The words dragged him out of sleep. That was pretty terrible. It had been a really good sleep, the heavy type that wrapped around the mind and did wonderful, unspeakable things to it. Crowley blinked tiredly and then cast a look at his watch. 

“Great to hear it, Angel, but could you have a thought that isn’t at 2.30am?” he yawned and tried to settle back on the couch. Aziraphale watched him in a mixture of anxiousness and anticipation, rubbing his hands together over and over as though expecting a fantastic business deal any moment.

“It’s rather a _big_ thought, Crowley dear..”

Crowley yawned again and tried to stop his head from attempting to find a pillow substitute. 

“I’m sure it is. Size always matters. However-,”

“And it’s a little ..um… risque.”

He didn’t need to look at him to know that Aziraphale would have a delicate pink flush at that last word. Just the pronunciation would probably set off the angel, let alone the meaning. 

“.... a little what?” The conversation was beginning to get interesting.

“Risque. It means-,”

“ _I know what it means!_ Fine. Okay. Go on. I’m up now. Pass me that bottle of wine and a straw and tell me your big thought.” Crowley scrubbed his face with a hand, turned the lights on fully rather than just the hall light, and then squinted toward the blinking angel who was stood still awkwardly twisting his hands together. Having taken command of the wine, Crowley waved a hand to indicate that he should continue.

Aziraphale gathered himself together and then fixed Crowley with a determined, if petrified, look.

“I think we should try it.”

Very long pause. And this was the reason he didn’t like having this type of conversation in the middle of the night, his mind was not geared up for the whole thinking thing. Interpretations were hard enough with coffee, let alone without a sniff of caffeine. Crowley frowned at him, and then slowly, thoughtfully, sucked some wine through his straw.

“It being..,” he said finally, once his powers of interpretation were failing even more so than normal.

“You know.” Aziraphale waggled an eyebrow, thankfully his own.

“Do I?” Crowley was getting more bewildered by the minute. A Meaningful Look was aimed in his direction which didn’t really help. Meaningful Looks were for people who had guilt and knowledge floating around in the mind, not demons like him. He reflected on that for a moment, before the wine glass lowered in possible realisation. “Wait…,”

“Yes.” Aziraphale said, somewhat unhappily. Crowley stared at him incredulously. It. As in ‘it’, It, and thankfully no fictional clowns. And was that.. Did he.. Should he..

He really needed endings to those questions, they seemed good questions. 

“Get together?” he said finally, and waited until there was a little nod. “But that’s a _good_ thing.”

More hand wringing. Poor things would need some moisturiser after this session. However, the demon was definitely tempted to chalk that up to ‘didn’t care’.

“I told you I’m a little worried-,” Aziraphale began but Crowley waved that off.

“-about hurting me, yes, I know. But I’m a demon. We don’t tend to end up hurt that much,” The wine bottle was drained as much as he could before abandoned on a table, Crowley pushing himself up to a sitting position and leaning forward. “I’m game.”

“You haven’t even heard what I was planning to do,” Aziraphale said faintly.

“I don’t care. I’m happy with anything.” Crowley waved a hand to indicate how ‘anything’ he was happy with. And the answer was lots. Lots of lots. So many lots that they could open a multi-million pound car park.

“Anything?” The word was repeated carefully.

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Anything at all?” Tested again, and now it sounded a little like the angel was a lawyer prowling around a sentence in search of loopholes. Crowley frowned.

“... yeah?” Still mostly confident, but there was something in Aziraphale’s demeanor that was a little odd. Crowley’s eyes narrowed as he watched. The angel always did have a lovely way of moving but now it seemed a little .. well… predatory.

“ _Really_?” Aziraphale pressed.

There was a pause. “Okay, Aziraphale, what are you planning? If it’s sex with the lights on then-,”

“A little more than that.” The nervousness was turning into excitement, wrung hands moving to a little clap of happiness or something angel-ey. “Oh my, yes.”

This was not improving his suspicions. “Are we back to pounding again?”

“A little.”

“You are aware we haven’t even kissed yet,” Crowley pointed out. “I mean, I’m not normally traditional but probably best with a little bit of a speed bump.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked taken aback, thinking it through. “Oh. Well, you _are_ right. We should build up to things. Although I was going to get you in position first.”

Another pause. They were getting good at them.

“Into position?” Crowley said politely. “Please tell me there’s no crosses involved.”

Aziraphale looked panicked. “Why would there be crosses involved?”

“...no reason. Forget I mentioned it.” Crowley said as casually as he could, but apparently he really needed more casual as the panicked look didn’t quite leave the angel’s eyes. Oh well. He was about to add something new, ideally to distract Aziraphale from potential erotic structures, when the angel moved briskly across and pecked a little kiss on his mouth happily.

“There,” Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled again which suggested that he was very good at distracting himself. “Would you like to continue?”

Which kinda sounded like some type of video game asking for him to insert more money due to dying. Crowley shook himself mentally and stared at him. Okay, that was the quickest kiss in the history of quick kisses, and probably wasn’t going to score highly on the style and flare scoreboards, but did he really care? It was Aziraphale.

He leaned forward, grabbed hold of Aziraphale’s nightshirt and gently but firmly pulled him closer into a deeper, happier kiss. One with the touch of tongues. One with promise. One with seduction. One with inappropriate for minors content.

Finally he released him and Aziraphale all but vibrated in place, a happy little smile on his face.

“Bring it on,” Crowley grinned. And how bad could this be, anyway?

*

“Ow.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley worriedly. It had been three days now and the demon was still hopping around due to a muscle he’d pulled in his groin. Of course the demon _could_ fix the issue but Crowley had dismissed that with a dramatic flourish, and Aziraphale had privately concluded that the demon preferred having an excuse to lounge across the sofa and be hand fed grapes every so often. The angel was pretty sure that this was mostly for show - the only grapes that Crowley approved of were squashed, fermented and sitting in a bottle - but he didn’t mind fussing over his friend.

Or rather _lover_. Aziraphale felt himself flush a little pinker at the thought and had to focus more on the grapes.

“Are you sure you don’t want another cushion, Crowley dear?” he asked gently. The demon eyed him.

“No. Cushions do weird things.”

“I’m not sure they do,” the angel looked perplexed. “Cushions aren’t well known for their weird activities. They prefer to sit there and look all … well, cushiony.”

“Some of them have _tassels_.” Crowley almost hissed it.

“At some point you may need to inform me why you have such an aversion to tassels.” Aziraphale mused, but dropped the subject at Crowley’s little muttering face and happily handed him a cup of irish coffee. It wasn’t necessarily the most obvious breakfast drink but Crowley seemed to be happy and Aziraphale was quite happy making sure he was happy. Happiness abound, in fact.

“Mph,” the demon began to drink as Aziraphale settled down at the nearby table and began to butter his freshly baked croissant. 

“So,” the angel said brightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” 

“Oh _dear_.” the butter knife paused for a moment, concerned eyes turning to him. “I was hoping that might have passed.”

“It was quite the evening.” Crowley pointed out, still lounging. Aziraphale smiled happily.

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

“You essentially turned me into a pretzel.” the demon added sulkily. “I mean, I’ve heard of different positions but that was almost yoga, with added lube. My body doesn’t really bend like that.”

The angel reviewed that. “Aren’t you a snake?”

“Hey, just because I have serpentine tendencies does not mean that I’m all wriggly.” Crowley reviewed that and winced. “Well, wriggly ish, you know what I … pft.”

He went back to his cup of coffee. Aziraphale watched him politely, still carefully buttering his hot croissant with delicate little strokes. He knew he shouldn’t smile. It wasn’t really polite, and Crowley _was_ enjoying his drama. It also gave a lovely reason why Crowley had to stay at his place until the aches and pains had fully left his body. Aziraphale gave a happy sigh, his gaze turning a little misty in memory. They had been rather _good_ aches and pains if he did say so himself.

“I’d never had you down as someone with so much stamina,” the demon added, having noted the little smile. Aziraphale made a little modest shrug.

“Everyone has a few things they’re particularly good at.”

Crowley eyed him over his coffee. “And yours is to manipulate bodies into weird positions for acts of sexual penetration? For multiple hour long sessions? For occasionally putting two fingers up at gravity?”

“Yes. Well, that and cupcakes,” Aziraphale advised cheerfully. It had taken a little bit of time for Crowley to trust his judgement during that night of passion, the demon panicking a little whenever their body weight leaned away from supporting furniture into what apparently had turned into the abyss rather than Aziraphale’s polished bedroom floor and fluffy shag rug, but the angel had been delighted once Crowley had started to do things rather than worry about balance. 

Aziraphale had actually lost count how many times they’d engaged in intercourse that night. Eight, he suspected, with two of those having a little pause in the centre to recover breath and occasionally to rub a cramp out of Crowley’s leg. But that didn’t matter, not really. For every complaint there were ten kisses, for every hiss there were multitudes of pleasurable writhing, and the blissful look on Crowley’s face as Aziraphale had slid into him for the first occasion was one that should have been recorded for posterity. 

Jam was added to the croissant as the angel thought over it all.

Crowley was watching him suspiciously.

“You’re thinking it over again, aren’t you?”

“Is that a problem, Crowley love?” Aziraphale looked at him in surprise. “I mean, it was extremely enjoyable, even if you did stretch a few muscles when I pushed your legs back.”

“If knees were supposed to be near ears they’d … ,” Crowley wasn’t sure where he was going with that. “... uh, be more silent!”

The angel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you suggesting you have noisy knees?”

“ _Not the point!_ ” Crowley waggled a finger. “I’m not sure we were doing it all properly. I mean, we did run out of strawberry lube half way through. That had to make a difference.”

“Well, yes, we’d had to use pineapple-,”

“ _Exactly!_ I mean, what sort of madman uses pineapple during a Side Jockey move?! Completely the wrong flavour! And don’t get me started for pear during Bullseye..,” Crowley waved a hand dramatically that would have threatened his coffee had he not already drunk most of it. 

“Oh my.” Aziraphale considered that seriously. “You may well have a point. But what can we do? I mean, it’s not as though we can possibly repeat it whilst you’re so sore.”

There was a long pause.

“You know,” Crowley said. “I’m feeling a little better. You know. In my limbs.”

Aziraphale smiled and took a small nibble of his butter and jam croissant in appreciation. It was always so good from this bakery, and the jam was from a local maker who chose only the best strawberries for the task. Placing it back down and delicately brushing the pastry flakes from his fingers, he looked up at the demon again.

“Jolly good, I’d hoped there might be a recovery.” he paused. “Tonight?”

“Do we have the lube?”

“At least three boxes, Crowley dear, you did go a little crazy on Amazon.”

“Hey, this is _my_ arse on the line here. I’d say I didn’t go crazy enough.” Crowley sniffed. The angel reflected that seriously, ripping a piece of croissant off with his fingers as he thought.

“Should we delay until we get more-,”

Crowley fixed him with A Look and Aziraphale smiled to himself. No delay. This was excellent. He had many other positions to try with Crowley, some of them slightly more difficult, others needing more trust, and some of them needing the demon very prepared indeed for fear of resulting in Awkward Situations. In fact, he had spent many hundreds of years gathering together a list of potential positions and recommendations and diagrams for just such an occasion. Probably best not to mention that, though.

He nibbled on the croissant again. Yes, this was surely the beginning of a _wonderful_ day.

END


End file.
